


A Thousand Years More

by kiranightshade



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Comatose Peter, M/M, Revenge, Vampire Hunters, Vampire Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-07
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2019-03-15 04:50:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13605894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiranightshade/pseuds/kiranightshade
Summary: For three years, Peter has had two loyal protectors while he slept. He would have had them for a thousand more had it not been for a starving vampire passing through.





	A Thousand Years More

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rufferto](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rufferto/gifts).



John was the first one there when the Hales burned. He was there to see Peter rush towards the flames and tear through the walls until he could drag one child out before some unseen force pushed him back. He was there to see his son pass out over Peter’s burning body and he was able to arrest two men before rushing to their sides. 

He was there to see Derek be driven off by his sister and he was there to see his son wake up relatively healthy. He was there for Peter when his family didn’t return. He was there to arrange the funeral and salvage the house. He was there to sit by his bedside and talk to the doctors and his son was there with him for every moment of it. 

 

*** 

 

It’s been three years and Peter still hasn’t woken up. 

Stiles hates Laura for running away and he hates Derek for following her. He hates the kids at school for looking down on him for his dad. He hates his absentee mother and he hates the nurse who thought she could touch Peter when he wasn’t looking. 

He loves his dad though, and he isn’t going to pretend he doesn’t just so Harris will give him an A. It doesn’t matter that he’s seeing less of him now that he’s the sheriff because he’s always been there. He’s the one who helped him with his homework and got him diagnosed so early. He’s the one who explained to him why he was the only one in his class without a mother. He’s the one who went to therapy with him when his only friends died right in front of him. He loves his dad, and he won’t stand by and let the only other person he cares about wither away in a hospital alone. 

Stiles is curled into Peter’s side reading when his dad stumbles wearily into the room. He drapes his jacket over the back of his chair and lays a kiss on Stiles’ head before plopping down with a heavy sigh. “Hey kid. Sorry I wasn’t able to pick you up from school today.” 

“It’s Saturday, dad, but I called Peter’s nurse for a ride.”

“Oh…Natalie drove you here?”

“Yep. Been working on my English homework. Eating your pork rinds. The usual.” Stiles waves his bag of poorly hidden gains with a pointed glare. 

“Good. Good. How’s the book?”

“Not as boring as the last one. Turns out the cave Brian’s been using as a shelter had flint in it, so he got a fire going.” 

“Good for Brian.” He says with a false cheer that tampers into an awkward silence. Stiles can tell that he wants to apologize again. 

“We could watch the movie with Peter.”

“Sounds great.” His dad says, his eyes crinkling as he smiles. “But not until you finish the book.”

“Yes sir,” Stiles laughs.

 

*** 

 

In the haze of fire and darkness, through the rage and half-formed plans of grandeur, a man’s voice is heard. He’s vaguely familiar, and is often paired with another. The man grows more tired, the other starts to crack and deepen. Their conversations are mundane, but they often include him, speak to him as if he were there. He looks forward to their voices.

 

*** 

 

Peter’s eyes focus and he sees a boy looking down at him. He smells familiar, feels safe, but he doesn’t recognize him and he knows something has changed. 

There are bandages around his neck and he looks confused, as if Peter were a curiosity he’s stumbled upon. 

“You don’t smell like them,” the boy says, “Why don’t you smell like food, like the nurses and my father?”

The boy reaches for his neck and Peter’s hand snaps around his wrist. His heart speeds up, eyes widening in shock or fear.

“Peter?”

The world grows fuzzy around the edges and Peter’s eyes lose focus.

 

*** 

 

The man’s voice comes back. This time cold hands in his and talk of case files and dying but not dying and pack accompany it. 

“We know what you are. We’re trying to help. Maybe when you wake up, you could help us. There’s only so much my son can google, and we’re mostly playing this by ear. But you don’t need to worry about that. Just try and wake up, okay? Just try and wake up.”

 

*** 

 

Peter’s eyes focus and it’s to the sound of fighting. 

A large man in a pastor’s robe charges at the boy with a dagger forged to look like a holy cross. There is another being pinned to the wall with a rosary in his hand and chanting desperately. 

The window shatters as the boy drags him and the man attacking him through it. A stray shard of glass lodges itself into his thigh and Peter sits up with a roar. Breathing heavily, he rips the shard out and tosses it to the side. Blood stains the sheets, but Peter can feel the wound healing. 

Something snaps and the chanting man falls limp to the floor, his rosary sliding out of sight.

Suddenly, there are cold hands on his heated skin. They check him for injuries as the man’s voice mutters his name repeatedly as though he cannot comprehend what he is seeing. Peter leans into the touch, familiar by now to the soothing presence of this man. He can feel his eyes flash brightly as the man draws him close into an embrace, one hand curled around the nape of his neck. He doesn’t react. Peter remembers him talking about him and his family, about them being werewolves. 

“We can’t stay here,” The boy interrupts from the windowsill, “Especially not now that Peter’s awake.”

He seems colder than Peter remembers, but he only remembers pieces, and most of it was from when his hands were warm and human.

The man pulls back, nodding along and leading Peter to his feet. He’s still a little confused, but he misses the cold of his touch, and he follows them to an old jeep in an empty parking lot. He sees the full moon from his seat in the back and his eyes flash in response. The man sees and chuckles.

“Don’t worry. We’ve got a place where you can run all night long if you like.”

Peter nods and curls into his side again. He doesn’t think he has the energy to run right now, but he likes the sound of it. 

“You got breakfast, didn’t you?” the boy asks.

“It’s in the back,” the man replies absentmindedly. 

As if on cue, Peter hears a thump from the trunk followed by a waft of perfume and body odor that could only be one person. A low growl starts up in his chest as Argent floods his senses and only the soothing slide of cold hands on his arm and in his hair keep him still. 

“The legal way didn’t pan out, so we adapted. You’ll get your share of her hide, don’t you worry about that.”

Peter nods into the man’s side and they lay further back into the seat. Peter lays there, compliant, for a while. The man may be older, but he’s fit and comfortable to lay on. 

Eventually, he realizes something.

“I don’t know your names.”

The boy snorts, and the man laughs loud and deep. Before long, they’re all lost in a fit of laughter and the man is tugging him ever closer.

“John. My name is John.”


End file.
